Week 1
Nebraska reneged on his promise to submit fresh writing. He didn't mean to. He fully intended to bring something new, untried for him. But one thing led to another and the next thing he knew Thursday had arrived and he had nothing interesting to bring to the table.
While it frustrated his literary journal mates, their annoyance with him was nothing compared to Nebraska's annoyance with himself. And he was sure that they talked about him after he left the meeting that night, uttering all sorts of denigrating, superior comments behind his back, because none of them was brave enough to say anything to his face.
Thing was, Nebraska was as big and solid and friendly as his namesake state and people constantly misread him. His open, placid face and linebacker body hid a love for and facility for the written word. It was a talent he didn't even know he possessed until a knee injury at Ohio State ruined his chances of ever playing pro football.
Not that he minded. He'd played football all of his life because, as a boy that grew big and strong and burly much earlier than any of his classmates, that's what he was expected to do. And he was a very good linebacker. But he didn't enjoy it. Not the way he enjoyed reading.
That didn't matter to his dad, though. An old alumni of Nebraska State and second string running back, he was determined that his son have the sports career he wasn't talented enough to have. Nebraska's knee injury seemed like a personal affront to the old man. And maybe it was. As painful as the cracked kneecap and torn ligaments were, the young linebacker thought his now valid excuse for leaving the gridiron was a godsend.
Week 2
So maybe, when the fullbacks were headed straight for him, he didn't try as hard as he could have to get out of their way. His usual agility and finesse, rather uncommon for someone his size, seemed to desert him for a split second. And that split second was all that was needed to find him under a dogpile of young men his size or bigger. The football popped from his strong hands and landed outside the bruised battery of players that blocked the gray November sky from his view. As the referee blew his whistle the pigskin wobbled uncertainly, almost seeming confused by its sudden abandonment.
Nebraska's father let him know - in no uncertain terms - that he noticed the boy's hesitation in the face of the opposing defense. As he shouted at his son for what he saw as the kid's cowardice Nebraska's mother walked in the hospital room. For the first time that he could remember, the tiny quiet woman esesentially shut the old man up with a fire neither of them had ever seen. His father never brought up Nebraska's perceived cowardice again. But he still treated the injured player with barely concealed disappointment.
Nebraska reneged on his promise to submit fresh writing. He didn't mean to. He fully intended to bring something new, untried for him. But one thing led to another and the next thing he knew Thursday had arrived and he had nothing interesting to bring to the table.
While it frustrated his literary journal mates, their annoyance with him was nothing compared to Nebraska's annoyance with himself. And he was sure that they talked about him after he left the meeting that night, uttering all sorts of denigrating, superior comments behind his back, because none of them was brave enough to say anything to his face.
Thing was, Nebraska was as big and solid and friendly as his namesake state and people constantly misread him. His open, placid face and linebacker body hid a love for and facility for the written word. It was a talent he didn't even know he possessed until a knee injury at Ohio State ruined his chances of ever playing pro football.
Not that he minded. He'd played football all of his life because, as a boy that grew big and strong and burly much earlier than any of his classmates, that's what he was expected to do. And he was a very good linebacker. But he didn't enjoy it. Not the way he enjoyed reading.
That didn't matter to his dad, though. An old alumni of Nebraska State and second string running back, he was determined that his son have the sports career he wasn't talented enough to have. Nebraska's knee injury seemed like a personal affront to the old man. And maybe it was. As painful as the cracked kneecap and torn ligaments were, the young linebacker thought his now valid excuse for leaving the gridiron was a godsend.
Week 2
So maybe, when the fullbacks were headed straight for him, he didn't try as hard as he could have to get out of their way. His usual agility and finesse, rather uncommon for someone his size, seemed to desert him for a split second. And that split second was all that was needed to find him under a dogpile of young men his size or bigger. The football popped from his strong hands and landed outside the bruised battery of players that blocked the gray November sky from his view. As the referee blew his whistle the pigskin wobbled uncertainly, almost seeming confused by its sudden abandonment.
Nebraska's father let him know - in no uncertain terms - that he noticed the boy's hesitation in the face of the opposing defense. As he shouted at his son for what he saw as the kid's cowardice Nebraska's mother walked in the hospital room. For the first time that he could remember, the tiny quiet woman esesentially shut the old man up with a fire neither of them had ever seen. His father never brought up Nebraska's perceived cowardice again. But he still treated the injured player with barely concealed disappointment.
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